A Righteous Protector
by kwayland
Summary: Castiel has been Dean's guardian longer than Dean could possibly ever know. Ever since the words "angels are watching over you," came from Mary Winchester's mouth. Castiel has been there through thick and thin for Dean, the only problem is he makes Dean forget it every time he does so as not to interfere with his destiny. Destiel included...later
1. Chapter 1

I was in the heaven of a man with Alzheimer's. He was kind and didn't mind intruders in his personal thoughts and desires. He was always on the bench in the middle of his butterfly garden, writing poetry in his leather bound journal. He was a peaceful man which was perfect for my favorite past time. There were never any disturbances, he had no need to say a word, and the garden and accompanying lawn were green and lush supporting many different ecosystems of creatures. It was the one and only place I could think or in this case listen in on the lives of people. I loved their simple acts of kindness, of love, of faith, of compassion, which countered their acts of hatred, war, and untamed ambition and desire. In summation, I loved human beings. Their ability to find the goodness in their world amongst all the bad. Their will to live. And I was the only one I knew of that felt that way, so my activities were always independent and private, even secret.

I sat down amongst the grass, my celestial light emanating across the small water droplets making them shimmer, and opened my mind to the words and actions of the humans.

All humans on the planet, some sleeping, some eating, some fucking, some delighting in another's company, all flooded into my mind. The first time I'd welcomed them into my world, I'd had a massive headache for days and I'd been so overwhelmed I had to pull out only after seconds of immersion. But now, I could sort through every story easily and efficiently until I found one I was particularly interested in. My interest sparked within seconds of a couple celebrating their daughter's very first birthday. The child's hair was a silvery blonde, wisping and wafing gently across her head and she was laughing, clapping her hands in delight. There was not much else she was capable of doing. But she was capable of understanding something exciting was happening when her parents set down a slice of cake in front of her and the father, a very young man who looked more than pleased to support his family, picked up a silver fork and cut off a tiny piece of the chocolate cake and fed his child. His wife was snapping pictures and consuming her own piece of the chocolate cake while the husband was not eating a single bit of it. The cake must've been for her.

I flew out, smiling, to delve into someone else's life. I sifted, cringing, through a murder and a rape, ending up on the other side with a women and her husband staring at an angel on their mantlepiece. I had no idea why I was even remotely interested but the couple were so in love and in love with their beautiful child of four years and the child yet to be born in less than a month. These were the kind of things that amazed him. The range of their emotions, and the depth of them whichever way they were swaying at the time. My brothers and sisters thought it was barbaric and naive that they weren't able to control something that could spin them out of reason. But, really it was kept them centered on what was important to them and it was what kept them human and alive. It was built into who they were and that was how our father had desired it to be, which to me said that those very emotions should be praised.

I flew into the scene, the husband of the fair blond woman disappearing downstairs to start dinner, something he wasn't particularly skilled at, but the woman remained staring at an ugly little cherub-like angel on her mantle. Her son was clinging gently to her leg while she was rubbing her tummy whispering to both her children, "Don't worry, loves, angels are watching over you," she whispered.

I paused just before I was about to leave. She wasn't saying those words out of faith but out of a tingling feeling in her gut. You could tell in the way she said it, which struck me as odd. I delved into her mind and saw her memories in flashes of swishing knives, stolen kisses, cleaning guns with her father, and then the subjects of the very violence in her life. The smoke of demons escaping from the possessed's mouths, the wrenching screams of wendigo's lives slipping away. She was a hunter and I could tell she hadn't over told anybody in her life now. Not her husband, nor her son. I dug deeper into the memories she had suppressed and I found a scene of a twenty-ish aged man who looked strangely like the very son clinging to her leg now. It was the eyes. They were the same shocking color of green, like when sunlight hit the leaves just right in the trees. He was running through the trees almost to the scene she was taking part in. There was a 1967 Impala present, which I happened to know was also in their driveway now. Her husband was lying on the ground dead and her father was kneeling down beside her shaking, heaving body, possessed by a demon with yellow eyes. I couldn't understand what they were saying but she kissed the demon grudgingly and released contact as soon as possible to return her frantic gaze to her then boyfriend, gently caressing his face and whispering his name over and over again. The twenty-ish year old man came screaming in just after and was slammed back at the realization that she had made the deal. The boyfriend proceeded to wake up, looking around his surroundings in confusion, and the only thing I heard was his name, Dean, echoing through my mind over and over again, like it was reverberating from the walls of my brain.

I pulled out and focused my attention on the little boy who was now begging his mother to listen to her stomach. She smiled and bent down, giving his ear and hands access to her swollen belly.

He whispered, "Hey Sammy, Mommy told me that's what you're name was going to be. I hope you like it. I do. I'm gonna look out for you, Sammy. I love you."

His mom smiled, ruffling his hair gently and bent down to his level. "That was very sweet of you, Dean."

Dean. The name continued to echo. I knew it was the same person. The question was how did her son end up in her past looking years older. The only explanation was something was going to happen. That he was going to become a hunter.

"He kicked me, Mommy," Dean giggled. I gently pushed into Dean's developing mind and all I found was an intense burning love for his mother and his unborn brother. Someone he didn't even know yet. Even for a young child, it was admirable.

"He must love you too," she said. "Let's go find Daddy and get you something to eat. Come on."

I left one of the most pleasant human experiences I'd ever peeked in on with fear gripping my gut. What was going to happen to that family that would rip apart the belief system of a woman who was dead set on her sons never growing up they way she did. The very thought made me scared for them. I felt strangely attached to that family in a transcendent way. I left my garden to the feet of Raphael who was relaying God's orders to the more subservient beings of the garrison. I was left out of these discussions increasingly these days. They preferred to just leave me alone in my garden, knowing I would do no harm.

"Castiel. What are you doing here. Done spying on humans?" he chortled. The garrison joined, albeit quietly. Some of them didn't understand why what I did was funny or even strange. There were some who felt similar to how I did, I knew it. But like I mentioned, none of them were willing to display those feelings openly.

"I have a question, Raphael. That is all. Then I will leave."

"What is it then?"

"The Winchesters. What has our Father deigned for them?"

"How would I know something like that, Castiel?"

"Don't pretend. You know practically everything."

"Yes, I do," he smiled, reveling in the power I'd provided him. Small grudging pleasantries was the only way to get Raphael to even talk to you.

"Mary Winchester will die on the night Sam Winchester has been alive for six months by a yellow-eyed demon. Sam Winchester will be fed demon blood, just a drop, and then their house will proceed to burn down, everyone getting away. For years after John Winchester will search for the yellow-eyed demon to avenge his wife, making him and his sons hunters along the way. They are the boys destined to be the heads of the apocalypse, Castiel. And that is all you need to know, and you will not interfere."

"Of course not," I said monotonously. "Thank you. That is all." I went back to my garden, mulling over the words Raphael had uttered.

Mary had said "angels are watching over you," to her sons, and for some reason she had believed it, and not because she was religious. With the life these children were going to have to face, someone was going to have to meet her request. And I knew no one would. No one besides me. From that moment on I became the Winchester's personal guardian. Most of all Dean Winchester. His world would be shattered and he would remember every moment of it. He was going to need the most sheltering.

I went back to their family again for one last peek before everything fell apart. The time I had been gone, Sam Winchester had been born, and John Winchester had left the house in a hurry. It took even longer than I thought to travel through the space of heaven, even though it took me all of the blink of an eye. Mary was obviously upset, her hand against her stomach, and her hand over her mouth. Then Dean came in, saw his mother, who was in the process of hiding all emotion with a smile but the young boy was extremely perceptive.

"It's alright, Mommy. Daddy'll be back. He loves you. I love you, too." And he wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, holding on tight. But he wasn't smiling. Dean was visibly upset that his mom was angry at his father. He was trying to make his mom feel better; trying to make the severeness of the situation dissipate. Not only did Dean need the protection, but he was worth every ounce of it that I would soon be giving. He was the glue to his family, and how strong would that glue hold once his mother was gone? For all their sakes, I was hoping extremely tight.

The words you will not interfere floated through my mind as I considered going down to earth and shattering the prophecy to come. But I could not. It was my Father's word and I would not disobey. It was the Winchester's destiny and there was nothing anybody could do about it, not even me. At least, that is what I would have to tell myself whenever the going got rough. I was the only angel, and this much I knew for sure, that had a conscience. That would care what happened to Dean Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

I remained in my garden day after day as was usual for me. That's where I wanted to be and that's where everyone wanted me to be. I spent most of my time in various people's lives but on occasion, and I admit it was getting more and more frequent, I simply couldn't resist, I would check in on the Winchester family. Sam had been alive for five months now and watching Dean with him was a pleasure. He was the only family member that would never leave Sam alone. Even when it was his or Sam's bedtime he would protest furiously, until his mom promised to sing him Hey Jude. She had stopped for Dean once he turned two but now it was the only way she could get him to go to sleep, like he was a baby again. My favorite moments were when it was just Dean and Sam alone. Sam would smile and laugh and wriggle his little arms and legs all over the place while Dean talked, read him stories, or played with Sam's stuffed animal bear.

If I went into other's lives where there was an older or younger sibling, someone was always jealous. Usually the older, because the younger was getting all the parent's attention, especially when they were babies. But Dean was different. His parents didn't affect his happiness at all. I could tell he loved his mother and father but it was all about Sam. As far as Dean was concerned, Sam was his responsibility to keep entertained and happy. And his parent's sure didn't mind, because it allowed them to continue leading something resembling a life. They couldn't tear Dean away anyways.

Right now, he was reading a picture book filled with talking rabbits and talking vegetation. I thought it was extremely unrealistic and abnormal but it was normal to the entire Winchester family. I just hoped Dean and Sam were aware it was a fantasy. The words were choppily exiting Dean's mouth. He was obviously just starting to learn how to read. Most of the words were pronounced wrong or completely ignored but Sam was quiet, drinking in every word. When Dean was done he climbed up on Sam's crib, leaned over so his feet were no longer touching the extended side of the crib, and kissed Sam on the forehead.

"I'm hungry, Sammy," he whispered, as though he needed to provide an explanation for leaving, "But I will be back soon."

He disappeared downstairs where his parents were watching television, John's arm around Mary's shoulders. Apparently they fight they'd been having a while back was forgotten. Another thing I appreciated about humans. Their ability to forgive. They hurriedly switched off the television when they heard Dean's pattering footsteps and smiled kindly at him when he appeared in their line of vision.

"What were you watching?" Dean asked.

"A movie that isn't ideal for your young ears and eyes yet. I promise you'll be able to watch it soon."

Dean shrugged, accepting the explanation with ease and settled down on the couch between his mother and father, wriggling for space in between. His mom ran her fingers through his hair and his dad bent his head down to say, "Did Sammy fall asleep?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm hungry."

Mary laughed sweetly; it sounded like clinking christmas ornaments. She unwound her hand from Dean's hair and the other from John's and she slipped off the couch towards the kitchen. Dean followed her like a puppy and crawled up with difficulty onto a bar stool by the counter, placed his elbows on the hard surface and rested his chin on his hands. A PB+J sandwich was in the works. Mary plopped the two pieces of wheat bread together after spreading the two ingredients and cut off all the crust before cutting the sandwich into four little squares. She loaded them on a pristinely white plate and slid it over to Dean who caught it inches from falling off the counter.

"Was that my best, Mom?" he asked.

"Nope. I think yesterday it was literally off the counter when you grabbed it."

"No it wasn't," Dean laughed.

"Well it's something to strive for," she said, ruffling his hair as she walked by, back to the television. "Holler if you want some strawberries."

Dean downed his sandwich in seconds. But he didn't call for strawberries. He sat there patiently doing absolutely nothing for over five minutes. Then he called for the strawberries.

Mary ran back in, looking more like a relaxed teenager then a mother of two kids, and pulled strawberries out of the refrigerator. She cut off all the heads, washed them and then swiftly cut the strawberries in half, placing the finished ones in a bowl. Then she slid that too toward Dean who caught it the moment it was beginning to fall.

"What about that Mom?"

"That was perfect," she smiled. This time his mother didn't run back to the living room. She stayed with Dean, sitting on her own bar stool and stole some of the strawberries for herself. Dean tried to fight her hands off while stuffing as many strawberries in his mouth as he could so that he would get more of them than his mother. Needless to say, they were gone in seconds. I was so sure Dean was going to get mad that he didn't get all the strawberries, but instead he gave his mom a high-five. "I beat you," he cat-called.

"Yes you did," she said. "Your mouth must be getting bigger. Let's go measure you. I think you must've grown five feet since yesterday."

So it was a ritual.

Dean ran off to a corner of the living room and stood as tall as he possibly could, his feet and legs straining to reach farther. John laughed when he saw Dean and pulled a pencil from his jean's pocket, walked over, and drew a pencil line on the wall that was scattered with pencil lines, all extremely close together. It was like Dean was measure every week.

"Did I grow? Did I grow?" Dean yelled enthusiastically.

"Yep. Look at that," John said, motioning to a line that was a sliver over the old one. "You're practically as tall as me!" John declared. "Where's Mom?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "I thought she was just behind me."

"She must've gone upstairs," John murmured. "Wanna go see Sammy?"

"Yeah!" Dean exclaimed.

John lifted Dean up and placed him on his shoulders. He ran over to the stairs so Dean was bouncing around like he was riding a horse, but walked more slowly up the stairs so Dean wouldn't fall. Sure enough Mary was upstairs and that was when I withdrew. I felt my face and I noticed that it was wet. I had no idea why. Was I crying? Is this what crying was like? I just couldn't believe that in less than a month that was going to be ruined. A family that would've stuck together through thick and thin for life. The tears kept falling and I couldn't stop them. It was like my eyes were out of my control. I just had to keep wiping my cheeks.

The man with Alzheimer's wandered over and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright, friend?" he asked.

"Of course," I said. "I am sorry to disturb you."

"Oh no. I haven't seen human emotion in years. It's refreshing. You don't normally cry," he observed.

"No."

"Well I'll leave you alone. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Thank you." He'd called me friend. Why? This was the first time we'd ever had a conversation. He must've paid more attention to me than I'd ever realized. I was company for a man that had none just by being here.

I settled down into the grass and decided all I could do was wait. Wait for the moment to arrive. I couldn't interfere but I could make sure Dean made it out of there alive. His destiny may be that of Michael's vessel but sometimes humans were unpredictable and made decisions us angels hadn't prepared for. And I was going to protect Dean. For his destiny.

When I said that to myself I realized I was just saving Dean for a life that he wouldn't want. Because by the end there would be none of Dean left. And that made me feel unclean, dishonest. But I couldn't watch Dean die. I wouldn't. I would just have to make decisions day by day, especially when it came time for his destiny to be fulfilled. I wasn't sure, even now, if I could watch that either. But that would mean interfering. I would worry about that later.

I peeked in a couple of days later to see where the timeline was and it was the morning before the dreaded event. I couldn't watch the Winchesters live life, not knowing what was about to happen so I withdrew. I would come back in a couple of hours to watch the horror. If Dean had to be present, so would I.

It was time. Mary had gone upstairs to see a figure, which she assumed was John, standing over Sam's crib. I watched her realize that John was asleep by the television, and run back up the stairs to realize it was the yellow-eyed demon. She screamed as she was dragged up to the ceiling and I watched Dean wake up with a start along with John and they both ran to where they heard the scream. John was there first and watching his wife burn alive on the ceiling. Dean was there seconds later, staring in horror at the engulfing fire. John handed Sam over and told Dean to run outside. John stayed, yelling hopelessly at Mary's lifeless body. Dean was outside with Sam and watched as his house blew up in flames. The explosion that followed worried Dean and I saw him glance down at Sammy, and reluctantly head back into the house with Sam in his arms. What was he doing?  
"Dad?" he yelled. "Dad. Please Dad. Come downstairs." He was stepping carefully through the burning wreckage and I was out of my garden in seconds. I appeared directly in front of Dean and he stepped back in shock.

"Did you kill my Mom?" he whispered suspiciously.

"No. I'm here to save your life, Dean. I will go make sure your Dad is okay, alright? Please just go wait outside."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Castiel. I'm an angel."

Dean simply nodded, reverently, and walked back outside. He was so trusting. I wonder how long that would last after this disaster. I was upstairs in a flash and saw John choking from the smoke still reaching for his wife. He passed out from smoke and from the absence of a will to live. I leaned down, touched his forehead, and he shocked awake.

"Think of Dean and Sam," I whispered, "They need you." And then I was back outside with Dean before John could even notice I had been there.

"He'll be right out," I murmured to Dean. Dean placed Sam gently on the ground and hugged my legs. "Thank you so much, strange man. Castiel," he remembered. I felt my eyes watering up once again. This child was the most emotionally invested human being I had ever met. His mother had just died, and he was aware of that, but he was still able to be grateful. He let go, and picked Sammy back up with a watery smile. I reluctantly touched his forehead, making him forget that I had ever been there and was back up in my garden. Raphael was waiting for me.

"What are you doing here?" I said. The Alzheimer's man stood when he noticed Raphael was in his heaven and was on his way over.

"Where were you? I told you not to interfere."

"I didn't," I said bitterly. "Your destiny can still happen."

"Why?"

"You've ruined that family's life. The least I can do is protect Dean to the best of my ability."

"The human doesn't deserve your love," Raphael observed. I'd never said I cared about Dean's well-being but I suppose I did.

"Yes, he does. You just don't bother noticing."

The Alzheimer's man had arrived and yelled, "Get out of my home!"

Raphael could not disobey the wishes of someone in their personal heavens and he was gone. I shuddered with anger and said a quick thank you to the man with Alzheimer's.

"I didn't recognize him."

"You wouldn't. He doesn't care about humans. He would never come here if I wasn't."

"Well I can take care of that bastard. Stay here as long as you like."

Why couldn't the angels see the beauty in our father's creations? We weren't any better than them or more deserving. We were maybe even less deserving. Why couldn't we see past the barbaric exteriors, to the interiors of love and devotion? What was wrong with the world I lived in? A world where watching the destruction of a family was prized because it would complete their destiny. A destiny that intertwined so closely with ours that they would do anything to guarantee it. I was the only thing standing between Dean and my kind.

Doubts, I thought. Stop having those. You aren't allowed to doubt. Have faith that everything will be fine in the end. Because it will be.


	3. Chapter 3

"Alright, Dean," John Winchester said, toting behind him a young Dean Winchester who was comically carrying a pump shotgun with difficulty. At least, it would be comical if it wasn't a six year old carrying a gun. "Do you see that tree? The one with the black scorch mark?"

Dean nodded.

"We are not leaving here until you hit that. And do it quick. I need to go away for a bit and I need to know you can keep Sammy safe. And I'd really like to leave soon. I might lose the bastard otherwise."

I couldn't believe how Dean's own father was talking to him. It was unbelievable.

"But, Daddy, I've never even shot a gun before."

"Dammit son, just do it."

Dean took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and hoisted the gun up by his shoulder. His tiny arms were shaking with the effort, and I could hardly watch what would happen after he shot. How the backfire would affect him. Dean closed one eye, like he'd seen in the cowboy movies I assume, and touched the trigger lightly with his finger. John bent down and looked Dean over.

"Stand up straighter. Open both your eyes, you can always see better that way. Never have one eye closed. It's like shooting a basketball with one eye closed, and do people do that?"

"No Dad."

"That's right. You want your body square, like that," he said, shifting Dean's body slightly, "And you want to believe that you can hit that target son or else we could be here all day."

Dean nodded and John motioned for him to take the shot. He exhaled sharply and pulled the trigger. The backfire sent him sprawling back onto his ass and the quick jerk of the gun had caused the bullet to go completely off course.

"Damn it, Dean. Be strong, hold yourself together. I know you can do this. No more falling backwards, okay? Stay standing."

Dean fired and fired and fired. He never fell back down. He was probably terrified what his father would do if he did. But none of the bullets were hitting their target. Every once and a while they would be close but John, Dean, and I could all tell that it was just a matter of luck. They were there for hours. I just watched in horror as Dean's arms became weaker and the bullets were going farther and farther away.

He glanced up at his father when he was ready to go home, and saw a steely expression on John's face. He wouldn't look at or even acknowledge that Dean was standing there close to tears. I was down there in seconds. I landed right behind Dean in the form of a small ball of light that neither John or Dean would be able to see with their eyes and whispered into Dean's ear, "I think you've had enough practice for today, don't you? Fire one more time and be done."

Dean batted at his ear like there was a bothersome fly but didn't ignore my advice. He confidently, or at least as confidently as he could act, brought the shotgun up and fired. The bullet was veering of line of course, but I gently steered it in the right direction, buffeting it with my own breath as I was coursing alongside it. The bullet pierced through the black mark on the tree, shattering the bark into splinters and Dean cried in relief, pointing at his shot. John bent down and gave Dean a big celebratory high five and lifted his son in a spin above his head.

"That was great, Dean," he smiled. "Really well done. Let's go home."

But when John Winchester said home, he of course brought them back to their little motel room not to far from the highway. He unloaded Dean, gave him a key to the room, told him to lock up and have a gun ready just in case, and of course to always keep an eye on Sam, before driving away. Dean watched him leave, his eyes glistening with tears, before he shook his head and entered the motel room.

"Where's Dad?" Sam asked as Dean came in.

"He, um," Dean paused. And I could tell he was debating what to say to Sam. Whether to tell him the truth or to lie to keep his brother in the dark, to allow his brother to have a childhood. To make sure his brother wasn't the one having target practice at six a clock in the morning for five hours. "He went on a road trip for work. We still need money, Sammy, to live. He's just making sure we stay safe."

Sam nodded happily, pleased that his father was still looking out for him, but when I returned to Dean's face I could see the pain. The pain in keeping something from Sam, the pain in what seemed like losing his father, at least the one he'd always known, and the pain in realizing he was going to have be involved. The scary thought that maybe one day he would become what his father had become. It terrified Dean, and I could tell that was the only thing crossing his mind once he understood. Why did it have to be him?

Dean mumbled something to Sam about getting something to eat, told him to lock the door after him, and shuffled outside. The wind was biting and cold and Dean wasn't wearing a jacket but he didn't seem to mind. He just sunk onto a bench a couple of doors down and absentmindedly watched the cars drive slowly back and forth in the parking lot. It was the first time I grabbed the visage of a particular, young Jimmy Novak, who was praying ecstatically to have a higher calling in life than college and his lame ass part time job at Walmart. I exited his motel room, where he was staying to meet a girlfriend, and strolled down to Dean, sitting on the bench next to him.

"Who are you?" he grumbled.

"The name's Castiel."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Dean," he said politely, sticking out his hand. I'd seen the custom that followed countless times but I still found it strange that he expected me to grip his hand and shake. What kind of greeting was that? I sat staring at it for a couple of seconds with Dean staring quizzically at me until I finally accepted and shook once before letting go. "Why'd you come sit by me?"

"You looked troubled. I was just wondering if you wanted someone to talk to?"

"Nah. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me." I thought back to all of the times my brothers and sisters had ignored me, called me a freak. The time when I had been expected to learn my powers and all the rules associated with them in less than a day and the consequences if I forgot one of the rules. I had a certain knowledge of what Dean was dealing with.

"It's just my...Dad. For a couple of years now he's been working on this thing that's started consuming his life and today he decided to involve me but not Sam. And now he expects me to be some gun-toting murderer or something and I don't want to be that. And I can't tell Sammy because I want him to be happy. I don't want my Dad to start using him as well."

"It feels like your Dad is using you?"

"Yes...no. Why am I even telling you this?"

"Because I'm listening."

"He's a good father, and I know whatever he's doing is for us so I don't have a problem with it. I love him and I want to make him happy, I just have a hard time...with..."

"I understand, Dean. I really do. You don't want to be what the world, your Dad, makes you. You want to be who you want to be."

"Yeah, something like that. Whatever."

"You're scared. Of what?" I could see it in Dean's eyes. A look very similar to the one when he'd seen his house burning down. Not that he knew I'd seen that or anything.

"I'm not scared," Dean retorted half-heartedly.

"Yes you are."

"I just haven't ever seen him like this," he mumbled more to himself. "While he's been preparing it's just been a lot of closed doors and late nights, but now, sometimes, I get the feeling he wants to...hurt me. I don't know. I must be crazy." But I could tell Dean wasn't. Because the fact that he was crying all of a sudden and that the thought had crossed his mind was a very bad sign. I pulled Dean into my chest awkwardly, not sure if that was what you were supposed to do, and just let him sob and sob until there was nothing left to sob. He had leaned in, so I assume I'd done the correct thing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Thanks anyways." He blushed furiously and then ran back inside his motel room, but not before turning back and shooting me a kind smile of thanks.

"How old are you, kid?" I yelled back, trying to sound like some friendly guy that I was supposed to be portraying. I wasn't very good at acting but that sounded better than what I wanted to say, which was, "Dean you are a six year old child. No six year old child sounds they way you do when they are talking. You have already grown up much too fast."

"I'm six," he shot back.

"You sound like you're my age."

He shrugged and disappeared into his room. I went back up to my garden and watched. That night, I went back down, watched him twist and turn in his sleep for a bit, before making him forget our encounter all together. He hadn't told Sam so I didn't bother erasing any memories from Sam. A deep sadness struck me when I saw Dean start fidgeting even more. The conversation with me had helped him, not hurt him and now I'd just made it worse. So instead, I replanted the memory, but changed the face of who I was, and made the name forgettable, Tyler. I wasn't prepared to take the helpful away from him. That was part of protecting him, after all.

"Dean! Where is Sam?"

"I don't know," Dean shrieked, frantically running around checking under the bed and the closet. Unfortunately, there weren't many places to hide. "I just went to the bathroom and he wasn't here."

"Did he say anything?"

"No," Dean said smartly.

"Don't be smart with me, boy. Nothing at all?"

"He did mention that he was upset with you. He doesn't want to move schools, Dad," Dean whispered.

"But we have too."

"I understand, Dad, but Sammy's still young and he's having a blast with his soccer team and his friends. He doesn't want to leave them. I mean, he polishes that plastic trophy every night like it's made of gold." Dean covered his mouth slightly when he was finished, realizing that he might've given away the fact that he had let Sam go.

John Winchester strolled over and slapped Dean hard in the face, sending the ten year old sprawling. "You will go find your brother and bring him back and never take your eyes off him again. You hear me? Next time he could end up dead."

"Yes, sir," Dean mumbled.

"Good. Now go."

Dean ran out of the house like a lioness was stalking him through the safari, and slammed the door behind him. When he was finally outside, with the harsh rain pounding calmingly against his face he felt his face gently, which was tinged cherry red in the muddled shape of a handprint. "Well, shit," he said to himself, "Where did you go, Sammy? Please. He's scaring me."

I searched the multitude of houses in the neighborhood, closely examining the ones that I knew belonged to Sam's friends, and I finally found him at Charles' house, where he was laughing and playing a game of monopoly.

In a woosh of wind, I was there. Dean looked up from watching the water bead and collide with his hand. "Where'd you come from?" he asked, shocked, pulling a gun.

I raised my hands and slowly walked step by step up towards Dean until I was only a foot away. "I don't want to hurt you. I know where your brother is."

"**What** are you? Dean questioned.

"I'm not anything you hunt. I'm just here to help."

Dean eyed me distrustingly and I sighed dramatically, "I'm an angel," I admitted.

"Like from heaven?"

I nodded. Dean started laughing hysterically, doubling over from the effort. "You've got to be kidding?" he managed to choke out, "There's no such thing. Dad would know. He's the best hunter in the world," he stated proudly.

"We don't generally interfere in the human world. In fact, angels haven't been sighted by anyone that knows what they are for almost a millennium. It would not be strange that your father doesn't know of us. But, that is beside the point. Let's go get your brother."

"Why are you helping me then, if you don't usually interfere?"

Dean was so much more suspicious and damaged than the last time I'd been down. I'd been slowly watching the transformation but I had hardly noticed, it was so gradual. I was on the verge of tears. This young boy that I'd grown to care for would always be damaged goods. And I hadn't been able to stop it.

"Because I'm your angel. What humans would call a guardian angel, I suppose."

"I have an angel?" Dean whispered.

"You do."

"But I'm not worth an angel. I can't do anything right. I don't pray, I swear all the time, and sometimes I hate my entire family. I'm not worth..."

"Shh," I murmured, kneeling down so I was on Dean's level. "Don't ever think that, Dean Winchester. Because I can see in here," I said, putting my hand over his heart, where it was believed the soul also resided. "And I can see who you are; who you really are. And you are one of the purest souls I've ever seen. Are you okay?" I asked, remembering his slap-mark.

"Oh, you mean this?" Dean said, laying his palm over the mark. "Yeah, I'm fine. I asked for it. I should've kept Sammy home."  
"In your motel?" I asked seriously.

"Yeah," Dean affirmed, a fire behind his eyes.

"That was the first time he ever hit you."

"Let's go find Sam. You can do that, right? I could use some sleep and Dad won't let me back in until I find him. No way."

I let it go and led Dean down countless streets, watching the sky grow dimmer. He wasn't very talkative but I could see him glancing up almost constantly, waiting for me to grab a weapon from my coat. There was a tension between us that I couldn't ease. Why did he have to grow up?

"It's that house there," I pointed towards a large suburban style house; the one with the purple door. Dean nodded and went off, shuffling his feet, his hands in his pockets. I turned away to retreat back down a couple of streets so I could dispell the memories of this encounter without Dean knowning, when I heard a, "Hey!"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a name?"

"Castiel."

"Castiel? What kind of name is that? That's horrible."

I chortled quietly and turned away once more but Dean wasn't done, which made me smile. "Well, Cas," he said, emphasizing the nickname, "Thanks. I don't know why you did it, but I'm grateful."

"I know," I smiled at him. "Take care, Dean."

"I think I'll be okay. I've got an angel."

"That you do," I laughed, but cut myself short quickly when I remembered what I was leaving to do. I could leave lingering thoughts of this conversation in Dean's head so he would think that an angel was watching over him and that he wasn't useless, but they were easily swiped away with just one word of disapproval. I glumly glanced down at my feet, and left Dean who had knocked on the purple door, and was currently asking for Sam. Being Dean's protector, or whatever this qualified as, was not as easy as I thought it would be. I could hardly do anything without interfering with his destiny. I wish I could have him remember me but then there was no saying that he would call for me whenever he needed help and if he did, I would have no idea what to do, and I wasn't even close to ready for such a theological, and personal dilemma.

When Dean walked by with Sam trailing him, his head hanging, but Dean being firmly gentle, I appeared behind him and touched his head lightly with my index finger. Dean glanced around him when he felt the touch, rubbing his head briefly, before shaking his head and returning his attention to Sam.

"You're on your own, Dean," I said sadly. I would always be there of course, but I had to quit pretending I was having much of an effect if he couldn't remember a single moment of our encounters.


	4. Chapter 4

"Dean! Hey, I need you," John said, shaking his son lightly from sleep. Dean grumpily awoke and sat up slowly in bed, looking completely bewildered. "What's up, Dad?" he said slowly and with a gravelly voice.

"Sammy's got a soccer game this morning. I can't go so I need you to get him there. You can come home after you drop him off."

"Back to this motel?" Dean grumbled.

"Don't use that tone of voice with me. Take your brother, now."

Dean rolled his eyes but answered, "Yes sir," and rolled out of bed, wearing simply boxers. He tugged on jeans and a shirt before wandering into the living room, grabbing a bagel from the bag of bagels on the table, and sat down in a chair across from Sam, who was stringing on his shin guards.

"About ready, Sammy?" Dean asked, bending down to put a cleat on Sam's right foot which already had the sock on. He laced up the shoe tight and waited for Sam to be done with the other leg before putting on the second shoe.

"Now I'm ready," Sam said, smiling down at Dean in thanks. Dean stood and half-heartedly waved goodbye to his father and then led Sam outside to the street and they started walking towards their school, the only place in miles that had soccer fields so it was fortunate that all Sam's games were played there. Then all of a sudden, John was running up behind them.

"Take this, just in case," John whispered in Dean's ear, sticking a gun in the back of his jeans. Dean didn't protest but tried to pretend that nothing happened as to not make Sam suspicious. "Sure, Dad," he said. "I'll stay and watch Sammy play. I wouldn't want to do anything else." He gave Sam a wink and Sam laughed happily. I was having a hard time determining who the parent was here. John was glancing down at Dean quizzically but shrugged and walked back to the motel in haste.

When they got to the school, Dean handed over a water bottle that he'd been carrying all the way over and gripped Sam's shoulders. "Go kick some ass, brother."

"You got it," Sam laughed and ran off towards his team members, shooting Dean a thumbs up. Dean stood alone a ways from all the cheering, supportive parents and watched Sam run up and down the field, occasionally getting the soccer ball. And when he did, he could outrun everybody and pass it into the middle where hopefully someone would be.

"Take that one, Sammy," Dean yelled when he was only a couple yards away, but looking to pass. Sam automatically began recalculating and in less then in a minute he had faked his way out of a grim looking situation, mostly be sneakily elbowing everyone because he was so much smaller, and took a shot that soared into the top corner.

"Yeah!" Dean said, clapping enthusiastically. Sam grinned at Dean through the kaleidoscope of arms and legs that were jumping and hugging him.

When the game was over, Sam ran over to Dean his shinguards and cleats off, so that only his socks remained.

"Ah, dude, you stink!" Dean exclaimed.

Sam limberly tried to stick his foot in Dean's face and Dean frantically turned his head away. "Seriously, man?" he laughed. He placed his hand on the small of Sam's back and started leading him home.

"You were really good out there, Sammy. And that goal was awesome."

"I know right?" he said, excitedly. "I wish Dad had been there to seen it. Ah well," Sam shrugged off. But Dean didn't. His face grew infinitely sad as though he were an immortal being who had seen more than his fair share of horrible things.

"I wish he had been here too, buddy."

"Did he have to go to work? On a Saturday?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Will he be home when we get back?"

"I don't know," Dean said truthfully. Or mostly truthfully. He was really pretty confident that John wasn't going to be home.

"Well, then...oh never mind,"

"What? You can ask me anything Sam. You know that."

"Can I go over to Justin's house?" he said in a rush. Dean flashed back to the scene where he'd let Sam run away. He wasn't sure if this was even close to the same thing but whenever his Dad was around he never let Sam go anywhere. But Dean could't deny his little brother anything especially when it seemed entirely harmless, like going over to a friend's house for a play date. Normal kids got to that. Didn't matter if Dean didn't.

"Sure, Sammy. You bet. You want me to walk you over there or can you get there yourself?"

"His Mom should drive this route home. I'll just have her stop. Justin knows I wanted to come over."

"Alright, sounds good. Do you wanna just stop here and wait?"

Sam nodded and Dean sat down on the curb of the street and waited for Sam to join him, which he quickly did. "How are you doing? I know Dad's been acting really weird lately. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright with that." Dean asked.

"He's not much of a Dad anymore," Sam whispered.

"I know. But he's doing a good thing, Sammy. He's keeping our family safe and we should be really proud of him."

Sam nodded, "I know. It's just hard sometimes. But I have you."

Dean smiled, grudgingly, actually surprised that Sam had noticed that Dean hardly ever left his side.

"How are you?" Sam asked. "You're doing everything, Dean. And you shouldn't have too, either."

"I'm good. I was born to do this."

"Sure you were," Sam said sarcastically, but dropped the question. He'd already asked Dean a couple of times and hadn't gotten a truthful response. He knew his brother felt cheated in childhood, life, and companionship. Of having just a couple of friends he could actually talk to.

A mini van rounded the corner slowly and Sam stood up waving enthusiastically. Dean stood as well, preparing to let his brother go. When the car stopped and Sam climbed in Dean approached the driver's window and banged lightly on it. A plump, but kind looking brunette woman rolled down the window and smiled politely at Dean, but was probably wondering why on earth a 13 year old wanted to talk to her.

"You gonna drive him home?"

"Of course," she said, almost shocked that some kid thought she wasn't going to good care of a kid who wasn't her own. She'd take better care of Sam then her own.

"Any idea when?"

"Probably after dinner time," she responded.

"Alright. Thank you so much for letting him come over."

"Oh, it's my pleasure. Your brother?" Dean nodded, "Is one of the sweetest, most considerate kids I know. So easy to please."

"Well, thanks again." And then Dean stepped away from the car and watched it drive away before walking back to the motel alone.

Sure enough, John wasn't there when he got back and there was a note that said he wouldn't be back for a couple of days and that there were can's of chili in the cupboard that he could heat up for dinners. No mentions of breakfasts or lunches. It must've already been old hat for Dean. I know it had been years since John had started leaving but I was hoping Dean wasn't used to it already. No kid should be used to being abandoned by their father. John was gone a lot more than I'd realized.

But Dean didn't cook himself anything or read a book or watch television. He just sunk down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. So I knocked on his door.

Dean opened it to find me and stared at me suspiciously. "Who are you?"

I just realized now how ridiculously tired I was growing of this game. At least, it felt like a game.

"I'm a friend," I said simply. "I figured you might want someone to lay with you and do nothing."

Dean raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he left the door open and returned to his bed to lay down on it. I kept thinking how that shouldn't have worked but maybe he wanted some danger in his life. Something to shoot at. To give him something to do. Something to take his anger out at.

"You do realize I do not really want to be shot at, right?"

Dean shrugged and continued staring at the ceiling. I ran through all my memories of human interaction and tried to come up with something that kids usually did that I could do and Dean would want to do.

"Do you want to go out for food somewhere?"

Dean got up off the bed and walked towards the door. I followed and said, "Is that a yes?"

"Sure, why not?" he whispered. "Someone I don't know, who literally came into my room to keep me company and says their a friend like they've been stalking me or something, wants to take me to dinner. What could go wrong?"

I didn't reply because I was so confused by his tone of voice and the words coming out of his mouth. I couldn't really drive so I steadied myself to bring Dean along with me. "Where do you want to go?"

"The Cheesecake Factory," Dean said sarcastically. I realized why when I searched for the nearest one and realized there wasn't one in this town, or even quite a few towns over.

"Alright," I sighed and reached my finger for Dean's forehead.

"Woah," he yelled in surprise, stepping back. "What are you doing?"

"Just trust me."

"Yeah, sure, okay. I think I'll just go back into my room. Without you."

"Please, Dean. You'll like it. I'll pay."

Dean freaked out just a little bit when I said his name. "So you are a stalker," he murmured. I just gazed into his eyes and waited for him to figure out how he felt about the situation. Our eye contact didn't break, which began unnerving Dean, and eventually he just said, "Fine," and stepped back towards me.

I laid my finger on his forehead and with a sudden displacement of wind we were in front of a Cheesecake Factory. Dean's mouth fell open and he just stared at me. "Who. Are. You?"

"Castiel. An angel of the lord."

"Okay. Whatever you say, man. I've seen weirder."

We entered the Cheesecake Factory together and I let Dean take the lead because I wasn't entirely sure how to do any sort of restaurant related thing. Apparently it was a good thing we came at three because they didn't have any tables for hours starting at five.

A nice, friendly hostess led us to our table and Dean gave her a cheeky smile before she walked away. That was quite the move for a thirteen year old with absolutely no hope. I was looking over the menu rather lethargically, remembering that I didn't like human food all that much. Or any food for that matter, since I didn't eat. But I was going to humor Dean.

"Know what you want?" I asked.

"Yeah. Burger. I always get burgers, no matter where I go. They're never disappointing and that's worth something."

We ordered our respective meals, mine a ravioli, and Dean also added on a glass of lemonade. I suppose he was beginning to understand what not paying for something meant.

"Mind if I leave for a second?" I asked. "I promise I'll be back before you even notice."

"Then why would you even bother asking?"

I took that as a yes and appeared in the nearest bank in their locked reserve cash and took one hundred dollar bill out of one of the stacks, before going back to the restaurant. I would replace the money after dinner. I had a small stash of human money somewhere for emergencies but I wasn't sure exactly where it was, and I didn't want to leave Dean alone too long.

"I think I blinked like twice since you left. That is really strange, man. So, angel then? What exactly are you doing down here on earth?"

"Looking after you."

"I don't need looking after," Dean responded, clearly frustrated.

"I know. But, needless to say, that is what I am doing down here. It's kind of my job."  
"The man upstairs put you on it?" Dean laughed.

"No, not exactly. And that is not a laughing matter Dean."

"Sorry," he continued laughing, putting his hands up. "I just have a hard time believing you.

"I know," I whispered. And who could blame him? With a life like his, how could he ever believe in a higher being? Especially when humans had this misguided belief that just and fair meant that their life in particular was supposed to be fabulous.

"So why do you have an interest in me?"

"You have quite the destiny, Dean Winchester. I'm trying to make sure, in your line of work, that you make it through alive. My brethren believe you'll do that just fine but I want to make sure."

"Why?"

"Your mother..."

"Don't talk about my Mom," Dean yelled, shockingly out of the blue. I didn't continue my sentence and stared off past Dean's ear and waited for him to calm down. Luckily, when the silence was growing particularly awkward the food came and I began stuffing it down gratuitously, as to finish it quicker. Dean did the same, probably just wanting to go home.

"I'm sorry if this is not how you envisioned your afternoon and evening," I mumbled, my eyes still downcast to my food. "I simply did not wish for you to spend another evening alone, without anyone to keep you company."

Dean's eyebrows crinkled together as though he'd just understood something and he shot me a small smile. "You could have just said that when you were explaining," he paused. "I don't mind really. It's necessary. I want Sam to have a childhood and my Dad is doing important work so he needs someone to look after Sammy."

"Don't you miss not ever having a childhood yourself?"

"Is it really that important?" Dean asked.

Statistically and as far as I could tell from what I'd gleaned from this world, childhoods were relatively important for development and imagination and teaching yourself how to have fun. But I wasn't going to bring that up to Dean, since he wasn't ever going to get it back. So instead I just said, "I don't know."

Dean nodded in relief and finished up the last half of his burger. "What was your childhood like?"

"I don't really remember it," I sighed truthfully. "I'm not even sure I had one to be honest, it was such a long time ago."

"Like how long?" Dean said, curiously.

"Much longer than your mind could even comprehend."

"So are you like really wise or something?"

"No, not really. There are much wiser angels in my garrison. I spend more time watching and observing this world than I do participating in either. Wisdom is gained from experience, Dean, and I have next to none of that."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"No. Not really an angel's area."

"Well, that's boring. There must be women angels, though. Are you guys just super pious or something?"

"That's not it. There aren't male and female angels. We take vessels when we come down to earth and they, of course, are male and female but we ourselves are not. We are simply beings very similar to humans but we identify ourselves however we'd like."

"So you could fall in love with a guy and not be gay?"

"I suppose. Again, love is not really my area," I said, trying to understand where all these questions were coming for. Then I remembered he was still relatively young and curiousness was still part of the conversation.

"So why did you pick a male vessel instead of a female vessel?"

"Convenience. The first time I arrived down here it was just the easiest person to enter. They have to say yes, see, for an angel to enter them. He was extremely religious and was asking for divine guidance. It wasn't hard to convince him and it still isn't, so now I just use the same vessel."

"You sure don't seem like you're full of bullshit," Dean decided. "But everything you're saying reeks of it."

"It's the truth, Dean. You don't have to believe it but that doesn't make it any less true. Would you like dessert?" I asked in conclusion, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from me.

"You're serious?"

I nodded and Dean wriggled in his seat in excitement as the waitress dropped off a dessert menu right in front of his eyes. It was like watching a child open presents on Christmas. Apparently dessert wasn't a regular event in the Winchester household.

"And I can have anything you want?"

"Of course."

In the end, he picked the most expensive slice of cheesecake off the menu, having never had cheesecake before and I skipped dessert. It came in a celebratory flurry and Dean was immensely excited. He dipped his fork down deep into the cake and shoved it home, his face exploding with the flavors.

"Wow," he groaned, "That is so good. You should try some," he said, offering me his fork and pushing his plate towards me slightly.

"Oh no, it's yours," I replied.

"Shut up and eat it."

I reluctantly obliged and had a very tiny bite of the cheesecake. "Oh for god's sake," Dean exclaimed, "You can't even taste it with that." He stole the fork from my hand, cut off quite a substantial piece, laid it flat on the fork with some effort, and then told me to open my mouth. I did, and he shoved the cheesecake in, getting crumbs and frosting all over my mouth and lap. He laughed when that happened but also waited in anticipation for what I thought.

I swallowed hurriedly but managed to keep a bright smile on my face. "That's quite good."

Dean nodded smartly and left me alone for the rest of the dining period. When we were exiting the restaurant and I was about to place a finger on him and transport him home, he made me stop.

"I don't know who you are or why you were here for me today but I really appreciate it. Thank you. I just wanted you to know that in case you decided to disappear right after you dropped me off."

"You are very welcome, Dean. It really is my pleasure. You are a good person."

"If you say so," he replied grudgingly, avoiding my gaze.

"You are, Dean. One of the best I know."

"Shut up and take me home."

I smiled at the use of shut up for the second time in a thirty minute period and took him home as he asked, right to the front door of his motel room.

"Are you going to be alright the rest of the night?"

"Yeah. Sam'll be home soon. Don't worry about me."

"I do," I said.

"I'm beginning to realize that." He turned to enter the room and right when he was about to shut the door on me he peeked his head through the crack. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Not that you'll remember," I murmured sadly and touched his cheek lightly before disappearing in a blink of his bright, intelligent, green eyes.

When I was back in my garden, I couldn't stop crying. This whole protecting Dean was torture for me, too. But there was never a point this time where I thought I should stop. I valued his company too much for that now, even though I had to start over every time I met him. Dean always managed to make the meeting new and interesting as the way he thought about the world changed. When I pulled away from my thoughts to nod at the man with Alzheimer's, who I'd begun to develop a kind, comfortable relationship with, I saw Raphael blocking his view of me.

"What?" I grumbled.

"You told him a lot about us, Castiel," he whispered, menacingly.

"He doesn't remember any of it," I said, keeping my eyes focused intently on him, challenging him to find fault in anything I'd done.

"What if it gets to the point where you don't want him to forget? What will you do then? This is a dangerous relationship you are taking part in Castiel. You have grown much to fond of that boy. Be careful, or I may decide you can never see him again."

I nodded, not bothering to argue and waited until he was gone before I sunk back down on the grass and put my head in my hands. I guess I wasn't allowed to sate Dean's curiosity any longer. I was tired of following all of these rules just so I could experience the human world. I didn't see anything wrong with wanting to keep a human safe, in fact, it was what I felt like my purpose in this universe was and Raphael was trying to take that away from me. And I was going to listen because I wasn't going to fall. I wasn't going to displease our father. I was much too cowardly for that.


	5. Chapter 5

I hadn't seen Dean for years. A throbbing, barely noticeable now, ache was in my chest. When I'd first decided that I would only go down if Dean was on his death bed, I hadn't been able to think of anything else. The constant numbing feeling coming from inside my chest. I was beginning to understand the term of a broken heart. Not that mine was broken, but I felt guilty. Immensely so. Every time his father slapped him upside the head, he was alone, he had to hunt instead of attend a talent show at school, I wanted to be there from him but I prevented myself from doing so. The man with Alzheimer's and I were no longer good friends for he believed I should do what I want, screw Raphael. We had a major rift in opinion which I hadn't handled well.

Dean was seventeen now, Sam thirteen, and all I could do was watch from afar as Dean grew into the man I feared he would with the treatment he was given. He was guilty all the time for everything. He thought he was completely worthless besides looking out for his brother, and he was scared to admit his feelings and to open up and let himself feel at all. He was protecting himself from a world that would've welcomed him with open arms if he'd just stepped outside the small world he'd created with only his father and his brother. But he didn't. Sam made friends but not Dean. Sure, he was popular, but I could tell he hated every single one of them. He attended parties, drank an excessive amount of alcohol, but that was the only reason he was there. It was terribly heart wrenching. And I knew if I finally decided to check in again there would be no way he would give me a moment's notice.

One thing I did notice, however, was that Dean was never absent. His mind was never somewhere different. He was always with Sam, no matter what and I thought that kind of self control might be the most amazing thing about Dean. It was still all about Sam. They were the best kind of brothers.

The whole family was going on a hunting trip for a classic vengeful spirit. They arrived at a run down home where John was sure there was a piece of the spirit keeping her attached to the earth, in this case, her bones. They hadn't been buried in any cemetery and this was John's next best guess.

They split up to search the house. John with Sam and Dean all alone. That was usually how it went. John, for some unexplainable reason, didn't trust Dean to protect Sam and so they were never paired together even though I knew Sam would've preferred to be with his brother. And so would Dean. He didn't want his father getting angry on the off chance and hit his brother. Dean had been able to revert all the blows back to him no matter who John was angry at.

Dean was poking his head around corners, his salt loaded bullets locked in position, and checking walls for any hidden doors. I saw the spirit before Dean did. It was being strangely quiet almost as though it were stalking Dean like a piece of meat. Spirits usually made their presence known in my experience, which was Dean's experience. The spirit brought her hand up and I couldn't help myself. I couldn't let her slash Dean's neck open. I was there in a flash and as I intended, although I'm not sure why I didn't try and come up with a better answer, her hand came down on my neck. Five red, pulsing cuts gushed blood and brought my hand up to staunch some of the blood, putting on pressure, and yelled at Dean. "Over there!" I pointed to a locked dresser I'd seen her appear in front of only seconds before. Dean shot me a quick look of utter confusion before ignoring me and making his way, slowly, cautiously, not sure he could trust me, over to the wardrobe. He used his gun to slam through the rusty lock and the doors swung open in a cloud of dust. The spirit wasn't there but her bones were. Dean grinned manically and pulled out a box of salt, gasoline, and a set of matches from his green duffel bag. He salted her bones, and was pouring the gas on when I saw she had returned directly behind Dean once more.

"Dean!" I shouted, "Behind you."

Dean swiveled around and without even a second's thought shot the gun straight through the spirit's forehead. He eyed me again before tossing his gun over. I was so surprised I barely caught it, even though my reflexes were superb. "I need to finish this. If she comes up again, shoot."

And she did, twice more, as Dean finished the process. The only problem was I had no idea how to use a gun. The theory had been a good one. He hadn't taken into account that I might not have known how. He probably thought I was a hunter, after all. He noticed my confusion and shouted, "It's already set. Just pull the trigger, and please don't miss!"

I did as he asked and she disappeared in a puff of smoke. He was trying to get the matches to light and said, "On the top of the gun there is a section that moves. Pull it back and forward and you should be set to pull the trigger again." I did as he asked and it was a good thing because she was back. Dean was striking a match over and over again but it wasn't lighting. I missed my first shot and she was literally inches from Dean by the time I managed to get the gun ready again. And I didn't shoot because I was worried I would miss and hit Dean. At least, that was until he shot me a look after her hand slashed down across his neck causing him to cringe and I instinctively fired barely missing Dean but hitting the spirit. Dean finally got the matches to light and tossed the entire set on the bones and watched as they want up in flames. When he was sure they were going to stay on fire he was on me in a flash, slamming me up against a wall. He was stronger than I thought any seventeen year old could be. "Who the hell are you? What kind of hunter doesn't know how to use a gun?"

"I'm not a hunter, Dean. I don't know how to use a gun because I've never had to use one."

"You only answered one of my questions."

"Would you believe me if I said it's in your best interests that you don't know?"

"No," he growled, bringing the gun up to my soaking red neck. I rolled my eyes and he became acutely aware that I wasn't scared of him or the gun, so he backed off. "You can't be killed by a gun, huh? You a demon or something?" he said the moment he pulled a canister of holy water from his jacket pocket and flung it at me. It, of course, did nothing, and Dean became confused. "Spit it out, bastard."

"I saved your life," I whispered, surprised at his language.

"Doesn't do me a lot of good if you just turn around and kill me, now does it?"

"I am not going to kill you, Dean Winchester."

"How do you know my name?:

"I am an angel, alright?" I said, furiously, worried I'd already said too much. "Sorry I saved your life."

Dean was taken aback and shot me a small half smile. "Thanks then."

I smiled back gratefully and looked seventeen year old Dean over. He was lean and thin but gently muscled. His shirt and jeans fit very closely, and his jaw had become much more pronounced. All the hard work and training was paying off as far as Dean's figure. He must've been a magnet, especially with those eyes.

"What?" he asked. Obviously I'd been staring at him a little longer than I'd thought.

"Nothing," I whispered. I was still busy staring at him, but this time into his soul. I hadn't seen him for such a long time I wasn't sure I would recognize his pure soul, but it was still the same. A righteous man. There was a certain playfulness and innocence as well as a deep devotional love that took up a majority of his soul. Only in small pockets of shadows could I see the overwhelming guilt and belief that he was worthless. His father had no idea the trauma he'd caused his older son. The son that was most loyal to him. He would appreciate it the moment Sam left, but it would be too late.

"Dude," Dean said, waving a hand in front of my face. I didn't snap out of it, per say, because I was very much aware of what was going on, but I did look away from his chest to his eyes. "Sorry," I whispered, "I was distracted."

"Obviously. Never seen a ghost before?"

"That's not it. It's you."

Dean ignored my comment, probably majorly disturbed, and took the gun from my hand. "I'll take care of that," he said. Our eyes hadn't broken contact. If I was prone to blushing, I had a feeling I would be, but luckily I wasn't. Dean seemed to be doing alright. The deeper I looked though the easier I was able to shift through the mask covering the surface of his eyes and notice that he was sad.

"What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"You seem sad."

"It's nothing."

"No, it's not," I replied.

"I just...I don't know," he whispered. "I just have this weird feeling that you and I have met before and that I really liked you but I can't remember you at the same time. Have we met?"

"No," I said. Now I was the one that looked sad. "Must've been someone else."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Listen, I have to go find Dad and Sammy. Tell them the ghost has been ganked. Wanna come with me? They wouldn't mind." I knew Dean was just trying to be nice. I knew his family and they would literally slice me to pieces, unless that was what Dean wanted but I could sense that wasn't exactly what he had in mind.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you though. I will see you again sometime soon, Dean."

"Please, come. You saved my life. The least I could do is buy you lunch or something. You look kind of starved, to be honest."

I hadn't noticed, but I believed him. My life in heaven wasn't nearly as easy as it used to be. I was always worrying about one thing or another. And he was offering the chance to spend more time with him without strings attached for a little while longer. And I hadn't seen him in so long...

"Alright." Wasn't the point of having conversations with yourself to talk you out of bad situations instead of into them?

"Let's go then."

Dean led the way through the house, checking every room when he walked by them. We finally found the pair wandering around a large master bedroom, checking under and in everything for any sign of bones, blood, you name it. Sam glanced up when he heard footsteps and grinned when he noticed Dean. When his eyes flitted to me however, they turned inquiring. He wasn't scared of a new mysterious person trotting after his brother. That spoke volumes of how much he trusted Dean. When John looked up, he came at me with a knife but Dean stepped in his way almost taking the knife to the arm. "Woah, Dad," he yelled, "He's alright. He saved my life. Back off."

"Trust no one, son."

"I know, Dad, okay, but this guy is completely clueless. I can tell. He didn't even know how to use a gun. He's harmless."

I harrumphed to myself bitterly. I appreciated that Dean wasn't going to let me get stabbed, poked, and watered since the explanation afterwards might become a little complicated, but he didn't have to pretend I was incapable of anything. It seemed to make John relax slightly though so I wasn't going to complain. That was when I realized everyone here trusted Dean. He was the link keeping his entire family together and he knew it. That was another weight added to the gazillion pounds already on his shoulders.

"We're just going to take him to lunch to say thank you and then he's going to go," he glanced at me stubbornly looking for verification and I quickly nodded. "I'll leave," I confirmed.

"Cool!" Sam exclaimed. "An actual sit down lunch with everybody and your new friend. What's his name?"

"Well, uh..." Dean began, racking his brain trying to remember. But I hadn't even told him so there wasn't much point until I heard my name come out of his mouth. How did he know?

"It's Castiel. Cas," he declared, looking proud. I wasn't capable of erasing his memories of me from his subconscious with worry of damaging something else, so maybe I'd visited him one too many times and his subconscious had become familiar with me. If that was the case, I was so screwed.

"I'm Sam," Sam said, running over, his hand extended. I shook politely, smiling down at him and Sam looked back over at Dean. "He seems nice, Dean."

"Sure Sammy," Dean admitted, "But he's not really a friend. I don't him all that well. I mean, we met just a couple of minutes ago."  
"But he saved your life, which means we all owe him something. I don't know what I'd do without Dean," he directed to me, "So thank you."  
I nodded and waited for the tense feeling to dissipate. Dean and John were having some sort of staring contest that was charging the room up quickly. They were having an actual conversation with just their eyes. It was incredible. They must've mastered it in the years they hadn't wanted Sam to know anything. Some agreement was reached because they broke off eye contact and John led the way in silence out to the car and we drove to the nearest diner that you could sit down and have a meal brought to you.

We sat all together at a deep red booth with the occasional scattered hole that had styrofoam peeking through. Dean and John were on one side and I was with Sam on the other. He was babbling and asking lots of questions and I patiently answered. On the surface they seemed more simple like asking what my favorite color was, but many of the answers I didn't know. I had to draw on the small glimpses of others lives I'd seen. The only problem was that I'd been slowly forgetting all I'd learned because the only lives I watched anymore were the Winchesters so I could dull the ache of being absent a bit, and they weren't exactly your typical American family. John was whispering to Dean who wasn't listening but instead watching Sam and I interact; a small smile gracing his face.

"Get whatever you want, kids," John said. "You too, Castiel."

"Thank you."

"Like Sammy said; we owe you."

I scanned the menu slowly but I saw nothing that peaked my interest which I wasn't surprised by. Everybody ordered and when it was my turn I had the same entree as Dean but a different drink in an attempt to seem like I wasn't copying. My motivation was a desire to know what Dean liked and why. I wanted to understand him. Dean didn't think anything of it. He just nodded and said, "Good choice."

"Thank you."

"You take everything pretty literally don't you? And you say thank you a lot, you know. I think at this point we can just safely assume you're grateful."

"Uh..."

"Oh, nevermind," Dean rolled his eyes.

Then Dean, John, and Sam entered a heated debate about Clint Eastwood movies. I wanted to say something but I had no idea what they were talking about. By the end they were all laughing and I began to understand why the boys loved their father so much. Because he loved them more than anything except maybe his revenge mission but they weren't as aware of that as I was. John just had a funny way of showing it sometimes.

The food came and the conversation ended when everyone dug into their respective meals. Once Dean was halfway through his burger he glanced up from under his lashes, tossed a french fry in his mouth and said, "You've been awfully quiet, Cas. Never seen a Clint movie?"

I shook my head.

"Good god. Please, promise me you will or I might have to drag you back to the motel with me and I'm sure you've got something better to do." Dean paused near the end of his sentence as though realizing he was basically inviting me over and he had no idea that was the gist of what was coming from his mouth.

"I promise," I said to spare him the embarrassment of whatever was supposed to be embarrassing. It wasn't like I knew. I noticed that John and Sam were exchanging a look. I bent down to Sam's level and whispered, "What is it, Sam?"

"I don't know. Sometimes Dean gets like this and Dad and I don't know why. He's never this social with girls, just physical." Sam's face adopted a disgusted face briefly.

"Like what?" I asked, entirely clueless.

"I don't know how to describe it. Sorry. Just take it from us, this kind of conversation outside of our family and with another guy particularly is rare, unless the guy in question is attractive."

"Are you suggesting..."

"No. That would be crazy," Sam laughed. "Sometimes it just seems like it though. I'm confident I'm reading too much into it. He probably just realizes what a great guy you are."

"You don't know me," I sighed. I was the exact opposite of great.

"No. But he does. I don't know how but he definitely knows you. He wouldn't trust you the way he does if he didn't. Dean is not a trusting person."

Well, damn. I was definitely in trouble. This would not go unnoticed by Raphael and I hadn't been interpreting it wrong. Dean's subconscious was aware that I was a friend and that I had been for quite some time. I would never allowed to come back down here. This was it. That realization hurt more than anything I'd ever felt in my life. Like my chest was freezing from the inside out.

It wasn't long before everyone was finished and it was time for me to leave as promised. I walked out of the diner and I was surprised when I could hear Dean follow me out. I knew it was him by the pace of the gait.

"Wait, Cas!" he yelled to my back. "Can I ask you one thing?"

"You can ask me anything," I said. I was already never coming back there was no point in not giving Dean whatever he wanted.

"I know you. I know I know you, so don't pretend. Where do I know you from?"

"I've known you years, Dean. Ever since you were four years old. I would spend time with you, take you to restaurants, help you find Sam, comfort you, tell you how special you were. And I made you forget about it every single time, but apparently your subconscious remembers. I'm sorry."

"Why'd you make me forget?"

"Because it could interfere with your destiny. The path heaven has laid down for you and I couldn't bring myself to do that. Knowing me could've brought everything crumbling down. You would've started asking for things and I wouldn't have been able to say no and then where would we be."

"Screw destiny next time, man. I like to think I have free will. So I bet angels do too."

"But you don't. None of us do. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry you had to find out this way and I'm sorry that I'm leaving you. I won't be back, not after this. Would you like to remember? I could make you forget me."

"What about destiny?"

"I thought I'd give you the choice. I might not be able to prevent anything from happening, but in this, I can give you a choice."

"What do you mean prevent anything from happening? You know what's going to happen?"

"Yes, Dean, but I won't tell you, so don't ask," I murmured. I could feel tears streaming down my face but I could tell Dean was just pretending that wasn't happening. He didn't know how to handle crying men.

"You really care about me," he realized.

"I have, I do, and I always will. Now tell me what you would like. I must go back."

"I want to remember."

"Very well." And then I left him down on the sidewalk all alone as he gazed up at the sky.

"If it's any consolation, man," I heard his voice echo up after me, "You tried to make me forget and I didn't which means you might be important to me too. I really hope you can't hear this because I don't normally say things like this, but...I wish you were here. That you could come back. I don't know why because the concept of you stalking me my entire childhood terrifies me, but it's great to know that you were looking after me when I thought nobody was." He looked as though he was going to add something else but then Sam and John walked out of the diner after having paid the bills and he ceased talking.

Raphael was in my garden as I suspected and I just nodded at his furious expression, knowing all the words he would say. He shook his head in disappointment before turning his back to leave. As he did, he whispered, "For once I am sorry Castiel. We will have to make him forget."

"I know," I sighed. "Try and give him a day though, would you? He's never realized how important he is and he just might right now."

"I'm sorry Castiel."

I sighed and walked over to a bench and plopped down beside the man with Alzheimer's.

"You are the bravest man in this entire place," he said before returning to his book and I couldn't help disagreeing with him. How come everybody was seeing something I could not?

*Semi-spoiler down below

*This is partially dedicated to the recent Destiel news, including them being half-canon and the quote from Jeremy Carver about an episode in the future in which we discover something about Dean that is very emotional for him that no one, not even Sam, has any idea about. Here's to hoping it'll be that he's bi. Obviously I'm a little biased though ;)

Please enjoy and review!


	6. Chapter 6

I never stopped watching. Even though Raphael mad Dean forget our last encounter as he vowed. I was keeping a promise to a man who forgot I'd made it. A promise to watch over him. To be his angel.

I watched as Dean started drinking more, having frequent sexual intercourse, and talking as though he didn't care. As though life was one big joke which I knew was not how he felt, even if he didn't. I watched as he thought his dad was increasingly disappointed and I watched the day Sam left for college. Both John and Dean understood it wasn't just for school but out of their lives. John was angry and didn't comprehend and eventually brushed it away as Sam's problem and issue. He didn't bother making an attempt to comprehend, either. Dean knew, however. He knew exactly why Sam was leaving but it only made Dean more bitter. Why would he leave me here alone with our father after everything I've done for him, after he knows exactly what my life will be like now that he's gone? How can he just leave? He's my only friend. The only person who knows what I'm going through. They only person I can talk to. Doesn't he care?

Those thoughts festered and grew until he decided to end all feeling. He didn't need anybody. He dropped emotion and with it pain so the abandonment by his own family, which he held so highly, wouldn't cause him eternal agony. Feeling was no longer doing him any favors, but now he was empty. He led life like a chore. Only in the act of saving lives was he happy.

Neither of the Winchesters ever tried to contact each other and Dean continued hunting but often alone. His father and him split to do different jobs on a regular basis. Dean was given the Impala and without much money he would often sleep there. The Impala grew to be his home. The only place he could do his own thing. Blast music, sing along, eat candy, read books, and watch movies and porn. When he was with his father it was as though he was in the army. He loved and respected his father but he was never himself around him. As far as he was concerned, the Impala was all he had left. It was the only thing that reminded him of his family being together. The company that he had enjoyed. The good old days. If you could call the good old days as hunting trips for supernatural creatures with your father and losing a mother at a young age. I'm not sure you could.

And then John disappeared. Dean didn't know why or what happened, but I did. He was being abandoned once again. How could such a loving person ever be so alone? My heart ached to join him in his loneliness, because I was having my own trouble with it, but I wasn't willing to risk the repercussions of that decision. I had no idea what they would do or if they would take it out on Dean himself which wasn't worth it.

One night after a night of hustling pool, he was lying on a couch in his motel room, drinking beer, and watching old Leave it to Beaver reruns. He went through and entire six pack in an hour and his dad's journal was lying open on the table, covered in a light layer of dust. Dean had spent days searching for clues to find his father but there was nothing. He'd given up. He was going to spend the rest of his pathetic life on that very couch. Then a commercial popped up on the screen. It was a car commercial for the perfect family and perfect road trip car. A family of four was in Arizona, heading to the Grand Canyon, and were cracking jokes left and right, sharing stories, bonding. The two kids were brothers and before I understood what was happening, Dean was crying. It probably helped he was drunk and alone but his shoulders were heaving as he silently sobbed. He aged twenty years in that moment and if you asked me how old Dean was based on life experience, I would have said somewhere in the hundreds. By the time he was five he was already in his twenties.

When his hysterics settled, he was suddenly on a mission. He packed up, left the motel, and drove hundreds of miles to Stanford University. The only thing running through his mind was, "My brother will hear me out, right? I'm his brother. Shit, what if he doesn't? What if he doesn't come? What will I do? What if? What if? What if?"

Sam went, as foretold, along with Dean and so it began. Their loss of what free will they'd had left. No part of their life was their own anymore because of one t.v. commercial and the loss of a father. John had no clue what he had begun in his deranged state. One that sadly had been going on for years. My least favorite thing in the world was watching people head exactly down their destructive path that they thought was one of choice and freedom.

I watched as the brothers reformed their bond. Dean went out of his way to show Sam exactly who he was. Dean was uncomfortable and nervous that they wouldn't fall into the same pattern they'd established before Sam left, but they did. Sam had grown but he was essentially the same person. He couldn't help himself, especially when he realized just how screwed up Dean had become. Dean was different and that disturbed Sam but he rarely mentioned it.

They took up cases like old times while searching for their Dad at the same time. I wanted to help, point out he was right under their nose the entire time, but that would have altered destiny. At this point, I realized that maybe I should just stop looking out for Dean. He wouldn't know any different and all it was doing was slowly tearing limbs from my body one at a time, bone by bone. It was becoming more and more impossible to just sit and watch it all happen, but that was exactly what I did.

I saw Sam discover his strange powers and watched Dean struggle with the knowledge that maybe he didn't know what Sammy was going to become. That maybe his father was going to ultimately be right. He wasn't scared because of what his Dad asked him to do. He'd always been good at doing what was necessary. He was scared that he wouldn't be able to do just that. That because he couldn't ever kill his own brother many other lives would be lost. I watched as Sam died and Dean made the decision to sell his own soul. A decision that I was severely regretting for him because he sure as hell wasn't. He still thought right about now that he would be able to wrangle himself out of the deal. He had a sliver of hope and it wasn't helped by the fact that Sam had more than that. They were feeding off each other unhealthily and again there was nothing I could do. They started fighting constantly because they realized they wanted different things. Sam needed Dean like he needed oxygen and Dean wanted to die. I'd known from the moment he was beat as a child it was going down this path. He didn't deserve to be alive. His excuse of course was that Dad had died for him and he should be dead anyways but that was only for Sam's benefit because that at least Sam could understand. It was really just that he didn't see life as something he should be a part of and hadn't for a long time. His only dilemma now was that he didn't want to end up in hell of all places which ultimately led to the decision to live for the time being. Dean was scared of hell and rightly so. And then all of a sudden without actually being mentally prepared Dean was dead. A hell hound tore him to shreds and his pure blood was being spattered all over the ground until his eyes were lifeless. Those stunning green eyes that I'd grown to love were empty and they weren't nearly as beautiful. It hadn't even been about the color. Dean was now in hell.

I snuck out of my garden minutes later knowing that Raphael would've called a meeting. Sure enough I found angels clapping, some even smiling as Raphael declared that everything was going according to plan. Sam and Dean Winchester were ripe to be vessels, all that needed to happen was someone needed to fetch Dean out of hell. The journey was often tiring and could turn complicated at any moment but it wasn't usually a problem. Most angels were wary of the trip anyways, however, so there weren't many volunteers. None actually. Raphael was just about to appoint some poor sap who was going to put my Dean together wrong when I spoke up.

"Raphael, please," I whispered. "You know I can do it."

"No Castiel. I will not have you making contact with that man or his soul."

"I'm the only one that can do it right. None of you know who he was or what he was like. None of you can put him back together right and that might just ruin your chances at getting him to say yes."

Raphael stared me down for minutes before he wrung his hands together and nodded abruptly and shortly. "Fine, Castiel, but you will not stay and wait for him to rise. You will not let him remember a moment of him being saved and you will not reveal yourself or your name to him. You will go in, do the job, and come back out. You will not linger or take longer than strictly necessary. Understood? Or I might just have to permanently confine you to your little garden. And by that I mean forever."

I nodded and felt my hand shaking slightly. I couldn't tell if it was in fear or excitement. I would get to touch Dean again, feel him, be with him, understand him, but what if I healed him wrong? What if I took too long? I had a feeling Raphael had one definition and I had another. Before anybody could object or Raphael could change his mind, although honestly if he did he could stop me, I was out of there and down to the gates of hell where Lucifer was sitting in a plush throne beside the gate.

"Ah, brother, hello. I take it your here to save some poor soul. Nobody ever comes down for any other reason, which makes me sad. You know, I love seeing you all. You should come visit me more often."

"Can I just go through?" I said irritatedly. "Please?"

"Is it that little Dean Winchester you've developed such a bond with? Too bad he has no idea you love him."

"Please Lucifer."

"Ugh, fine, don't play with me. I was just having some fun. I'm opening your bloody gates, relax. Remember, no flying. I don't appreciate that."

"Yes, I remember."

I walked through the dank, black, moldy gates that were actually magnificent in size and went down a one way stone path to hell. I could already feel the heat soaring through the cavern and it was a mile long walk before I actually got there. Before I actually got to the racks and cages. I'd only seen the racks once in my life but I knew that's where Dean would be and I wasn't ready for that. They were truly disturbing and horrible. No human, no matter what they did, deserved that. Too bad punishment was Lucifer's decision. It wasn't long before I saw the fire and the barbed chains running all across the huge chasm. And so I began my search for Dean's guts.


End file.
